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I’ll return him tomorrow, and Tim will know.
Pulling out the stolen notes, I sit down at my table and begin to read.
His idea isn’t similar to mine in the slightest, but he’s figured out the part that I’ve struggled to find: An addictive way to reject and accept matches.
Swipe right for yes. Swipe left for no.
Hmmm.
He has far more stupid ideas than good ones, though. Things like bagel meet-ups, murder mystery games, and more niche games that users can play to “score true love.”
All of that was utter garbage. But the swiping feature?
That was impressive.
Very, very impressive.
A wave of envy washes over me, nearly drowning me with every hit.
He has my Penelope.
My Penelope.
Without thinking, I pull out the ‘accept and reject’ plans for my dating app and set them next to his. Then I compare every line of code.
I brew cup after cup of coffee, comparing the best parts of his app to the places where my app is at its weakest.
I only take the swiping feature—obviously, but I vow to never admit that shit to a single soul.
By the time I finish, the sun is rising into the sky, and Tim’s dog is pawing at my leg—reminding me that I have to quietly drop him off at Penelope’s next-door neighbor’s house with an anonymous note, so that Tim will never know that I “stole” him.
Shit.
Break Up #16.5
The One That Could Never Be
better yet …
the one that really started the cold war
Hayden
Back Then
I pack my broken heart into a suitcase and head to the airport for New York.
I’m not sure how the hell Penelope finds me, why she insists on making this shit even harder since she broke my heart by falling for some other guy, but I do my best to show no emotion.
I tell her that I’ll still call.
That we’ll still be best friends, but that’s a lie.
I’m too in love with her for that to be a reality.
At first, things seem normal between us—like she doesn’t notice, because I still send her small texts here or there. But I force myself to stop after a few weeks.
Outside of a “Happy Birthday,” or a “Hope you’re well,” we rely on Travis for updates on one another.
He’s far too involved in his own career to ever notice the change.
Break Up #16.5
The One That Could Never Be
better yet …
the one that really started the cold war
Hayden
Back Then
Several months later, I sit in a bar in SoHo to watch Penelope compete in Skate America. My feelings for her have been compartmentalized, and I’ve channeled everything I once felt for her into my newly named dating app—Cinder. (Yes, I know that it’s petty to make it rhyme with Tinder, but I haven’t completely let go of my envy. Plus, it sounds better than Tinder anyway.)
Alas, almost all of my “She’s too young for you,” “It’ll never work,” “She’s your best friend’s little sister” affirmations have finally paid off. I’ve also managed to get a therapist to convince me that my emotions for Penelope were misplaced for the family I never had.
“Can you turn the TV up a bit?” I call out to the bartender as the show begins.
“As you wish.”
“Welcome back to Skate America, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer smiles onscreen. “First up on tonight’s program is the reigning world champion in singles figure skating, Miss Penelope Carter!”
I stare at Penelope as she takes to the ice in a stunning blue costume, still feeling remnants of feelings that I swore were long gone.
I have to call her after she wins today. We need to put an end to this Cold War.
Her music begins to play, and she commands the attention of everyone in the bar. Everyone in the arena.
She’s utter perfection for the first minute in, and the announcers are already declaring her as the winner.
She deviates from her program with a quadruple lutz that she lands perfectly. Then she does another.
As if she has something to prove, she attempts and lands a series of triple salchows, and then she gears up for a fourth quadruple lutz.
She launches herself into the air, but she doesn’t land with her blades this time.
Her head hits the ice first.
I stand up from my chair as blood spatters onto the ice, as the announcers scream for someone to help her.
Deafening screams and wails fill the bar, and the TV cuts to a quick commercial.
Without a second thought, I rush to the airport and pay triple for a last-minute ticket to Chicago.
“Took you long enough.” Travis stands up the moment I step into the waiting room.
“How is she?”
“Broken legs, wrist fracture, fractured skull, and selective, spatial memory loss. The latter has to be short term, because she remembers all of my transgressions just fine.” He rolls his eyes. “The doctors say she’ll recover easily, but she’ll never skate again. They say her chase for twenty-eight is officially over.”
